Resonance in Monotone
Release
VIII
Written by Dragenruler
The End (stripped with strings) - JPOLND, Pan do Bare, Chess Theory
The sun, a muted orb shielded by autumn clouds, cast a soft, diffused light that filtered through the narrow alleys of Sumida. Residents shuffled about their morning routines, wrapped in light jackets to fend off the October breeze, their footsteps softened by a carpet of amber leaves.
Against the backdrop of aging apartment blocks, where paint peeled and shutters had faded from years of sun, Hisana stood with her luggage at her side. Having returned from Karakura Town, she felt a finality in her farewell to a life that once was.
For the first time in ages, she felt at ease in her own skin. A spark danced in her eyes. Indeed, her decision to escape for the weekend had been wise.
While it hadn't quenched the flames, it had provided a much-needed respite. Throughout those days, the haunting touch of memories grew fainter, freeing her from the dreams that often clung to her like a second skin.
Instead, she found comfort in the company of her sister, Rukia. Together, they had sprawled across the couch, old movies playing more as a soundtrack. It was a rare moment to feel rather than think, much like now, standing in the cool morning air with the city alive with distant sounds—birds chirping, footsteps rustling through fallen leaves, and snippets of conversation from passersby blending into the rundown flats of Sumida.
Since her parents' death and taking guardianship of Rukia, Hisana's life had felt like navigating a maze of recurring paths, each leading back to nowhere. Now, the path was clear, albeit still narrow and shadowed.
Despite the darkness looming to pull her back, Hisana was resolute. She was moving forward—for herself, for her life, and for Rukia. Ahead, Kuchiki Byakuya stood. Standing there, her posture firm, she was ready to meet his stormy gaze not as an onlooker but as an equal force, formidable in her own right.
The purr of a car's engine announced the arrival of a black car, which glided to a stop in front of her. Its arrival pulled a smile onto her face—a blend of warmth and provocation. A sharply dressed man stepped out, his suit pristine, his black hair neatly styled. He met her gaze with deep green eyes and bowed before opening the car door with a soft click.
Hisana paused, her heart sinking once she noted the emptiness of the passenger seat. Yet, when she slid into the car, her small smile flickered to the driver, who lowered his head to hide a blush before shutting the door.
A wave of faint dizziness washed over her, Byakuya's absence acted like a locked door, blocking her intentions. She braced herself against the plush leather seats, inhaling deeply, letting the car's scent—a blend of fine leather and a hint of his cologne—flood her senses.
The trunk closed with a thud, and soon the car surged to life, pulling away from her apartment, steering towards the outskirts of Tokyo. The smooth hum of the engine enveloped her in a cocoon, muffling the city and the frustrations of past days.
Fidgeting with the ring on her finger, Hisana's gaze danced around the interior. The silence stretched until she could bear it no longer, leaning towards the front seat with a brightness in her voice that belied her growing unease. "What's your name? I'm Marugo Hisana."
"Yuki Ryūnosuke," the driver responded, his tone tentative. His green eyes shot up to meet hers in the rear-view mirror before darting away.
Her smile widened, her teeth gleaming against the soft pastels of her attire as she responded warmly, "It's lovely to meet you, Yuki-san." Nodding towards the car's digital screen, she added, "I know it's only an hour's drive, but could we listen to some music? I'm not too fond of the quiet."
"Of course, Marugo-sama," Yuki replied. His fingers faltered over the glowing dashboard before settling on a selection. After a few taps, a classical melody began to fill the car's interior, drawing a soft thank you from Hisana.
Hisana settled into her seat and pulled out her phone, its screen a glaring light in the dimmed interior of the car. With Shirogane having provided scant details about the event, she allowed her fingers to dance across the keyboard, diving into a search to piece together more information and occupy her mind.
Leaving Tokyo behind, the car moved from the bustling cityscape to tranquil countryside expanses. Skyscrapers were replaced by open fields and the motorway snaked through rolling hills and past quaint villages. Approaching Hayama, the sea merged with the sky on the horizon, painting a mirage where the ocean kissed the heavens. The hotel, nestled among whispering pines, harmonised with its surroundings, its roofs echoing the contours of the distant mountains.
Upon arrival, Yuki managed the luggage while the fresh scent of sea salt and pine filled the air. Hisana exchanged a brief, gracious farewell with the driver before proceeding to check in. The process was smooth, and her luggage was sent up to her modest room, which, while simple and dominated by a double bed, lacked any view of the ocean.
Due to the brevity of her stay, her room did not concern her—it was just for one night, and she had little intention of making much use of it. Shuffling her bag across the floor, Hisana heard the soft scrape of fabric against the hardwood as she moved it towards the bed, ready to start getting herself organised.
By the time Hisana stood ready before the full-length mirror, the afternoon sun was casting a warm, golden light throughout the hotel room.
Dressed in a deep plum gown, she resembled rich wine, highlighting her contours with its sleek, fitted design. Sheer sleeves brushed against her arms, adorned with delicate embroidery that blossomed into intricate patterns against her pale skin. Her black hair was pinned up to mirror the floral motifs of her dress, each detail finely crafted and carefully selected.
A stroke of dark mascara framed her big lavender eyes, now sparkling with an elusive hint of blue. After a final, approving glance in the mirror, she slipped into her silver heels with a soft click.
Hisana felt the quickened rhythm of her heart; a rapid fluttering of wings trapped inside. Her reflection seemed almost a stranger—poised and elegant, a vision she did not recognised. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself: this polished image was indeed her.
Hisana's pause lasted until a glance at her phone shattered the stillness. She gathered her coat and evening essentials into her clutch with swift, decisive movements.
After giving her reflection a nod and smoothing down her dress, she moved towards the door. Her heels tapped a brisk rhythm, echoing as she hurried from her room and descended to the lobby. Upon reaching the front desk, the urgency in her steps faded amidst a sea of unfamiliar faces.
Hisana settled onto a sofa, her gaze captivated by the distant mountains, her chin resting in her hand. To the casual observer, the true depth of her focus was imperceptible; amidst the soft murmurs of the lobby, her senses were tuned to a different frequency—a low, electric hum that vibrated through her veins, her muscles tensed and waiting.
Biting her lip, her fingers froze mid-drum against her cheek. An electric current swept through her, igniting her skin before her mind could register the spark. Without looking, she knew; her heart had already sketched his presence against her ribcage.
"Hisana," the way he said her name made it sound like a confession.
It held Hisana captive. She sat coiled, poised, then turned to face him. Her gaze swept up, meeting his grey eyes with her lavender ones and a switch flipped, illuminating her face with a smile so bright, it rivalled the stars.
Observing the sliver of his tie, which matched her accessories, she felt an unexpected warmth flood her face. "Byakuya-sama," she responded.
He studied her with an intensity that made her heart race. "You look beautiful," he breathed with a small, economic curve of his lips.
"Thank you, Byakuya-sama. You look rather dashing," Hisana's voice was a muted murmur, almost lost amidst the ambient noises of the lobby, prompting Byakuya to tilt his head closer to catch her words, "as always."
Pressing her hand against her fluttering stomach, she sought to steady the tremor before rising to stand.
His lips began to part, a softening in his impassive eyes. But as quickly as the gap appeared, it was gone—closed off as he snapped his mouth shut, locking away whatever thought had almost escaped.
"I am pleased to see that you have approached this event with the seriousness it deserves. Tonight holds significant opportunities for you." He said, the mask of stoicism redrawn.
"Of course I do," Hisana answered, the edge in his tone drawing her up short. "Though my initial behaviour when we first met may not have been proper, I assure you, Byakuya-sama, my intentions are sincere."
Her gaze dropped before lifting again, her voice softer, "I always have been."
"Ah," he began, his reaction dismissive. Then he paused, his expression growing more intent. "I did not intend any offense. Hisana, your talent as an artist is undeniable, but achieving success in this field depends on establishing the appropriate connections."
"I understand. However, I must confess, it's hard for me to imagine a more ideal professional connection than the one we share." Hisana said, leaning forward. She glanced down at her heels and then looked up through her lashes.
Locked on his face, she didn't waver while her heart raced, "Unless, of course, you've grown tired of having a rather simple employee like myself." Her lips moved, making the plum hue of her lipstick glisten; her radiant smile played hide and seek with him.
To anyone else, Byakuya might have seemed unchanged—his posture regal, his expression impassive. However, Hisana noticed the slight crinkle at the corner of his gaze flicking between her lips and eyes.
Despite this acknowledgment, he steered the conversation with a practiced grace, leading as she followed. The real questions, those simmering just beneath their pleasantries, remained unvoiced, replaced by exchanges as light and decorative as the hotel lobby's decor.
Before long, they stepped out into the crisp evening air of Hayama, moving toward the black car that awaited them.
As the last rays of sunlight streamed through the tinted car windows, Hisana caught her reflection in the glass. The delicate pendant at her throat sparkled, matching the vibrancy of her lavender eyes. They sat in silence, the polite conversation left behind, with only the soft hum of the engine and their breaths filling the space. The scent of his cologne tightened the knot in her chest, a fragrance distinctly his but out of reach.
It wasn't proper, she chided herself, fingers toying with the hem of her dress. Every shift from Byakuya intensified his magnetic pull, making her fingers twitch with the need to reach over. Stealing glances, she admired his sharp, aristocratic features and groomed hair that revealed the strong lines of his jaw.
Holding her breath, the urge to bridge the gap between them grew unbearable.
Thankfully, just then, the car slid to a stop. Yuki exited first, and as Byakuya's door opened, a rush of cold air mixed with the sound of distant waves echoed. He turned to her with a stormy, intense gaze that sent shivers down her spine. Without a word, he exited and extended his hand back towards her.
Drawn to him, Hisana placed her hand in his. A shock of warmth shattered her eased façade, spreading up her arms and into her heart. His strong grip in her hand felt right, supporting her while she stepped out of the car. Her heels clicked against the concrete. She met his gaze, and the view stole her breath away. Behind him, the ocean sprawled vast and shimmering, the sun sinking into its embrace—swirls of twilight blues and evening golds.
He was like a figure in a living painting, divinely set apart from the mundane, each moment with him an art form too profound for this world. It reminded Hisana of that morning on the rooftop with red-stained concrete and stinging cigarette smoke, and that afternoon in the park where shadows wrapped around her. Yet, he had been there, willing to sit beside her.
"Thank you," Hisana whispered. His hand remained steady in hers. Ahead, the gallery—a regal edifice of glass and steel—loomed. Glancing around, she asked, "Are we early, Byakuya-sama?"
"They arranged a private viewing for us," he replied, warmth flickering in his cool eyes.
"I didn't know such arrangements were possible," she murmured, tightening her grip on his hand.
Instead of replying, Byakuya allowed a soft smile to grace his features. Hisana stared at him, unblinking. Sensing her reaction, he released her hand, his touch trailing a whisper-soft path along her skin. Shivers coursed through her as his hand settled at the small of her back. Her lips parted, but only his name emerged. Almost instinctively, she leaned into his closeness, the gentle pressure guiding her toward the entrance.
Upon reaching the gallery, a well-dressed attendant swung open the grand doors. Inside, early evening light poured through large panoramic windows, bathing the artworks in a gentle light. The space was serene, punctuated by the distant murmur of the sea and discreet staff whispers.
"Welcome, Kuchiki-sama," greeted another attendant. His white shirt was crisp against his black trousers, his vest marking his seniority. He bowed and offered to take their coats, signalling to a group of helpers.
Hisana's smile, though gracious, was strained. She slid off her coat and clutch, handing both over. She straightened her spine, mimicking Byakuya's composure and squaring her shoulders to match his elegance.
As their coats were taken away, a tray with two sparkling champagne glasses appeared, gleaming under the soft lights. Stealing a glance from beneath her lashes, Hisana met Byakuya's gaze when he handed her a glass.
Her smile widened, blossoming into a full radiant expression, revealing everything she felt. Despite this, a whisper of doubt persisted, questioning the sudden intimacy. Though she remained herself and he the composed Kuchiki Byakuya, tonight his usual reserve was softened, marked by fissures that glowed of warmth.
Her fingers brushed the rim of her champagne glass, the tapping inaudible but resonant, revealing the hidden motives in her heart. If she could see the cracks in his façade, she was certain he could discern hers.
A flush coloured Hisana's cheeks when she realised the attendant was still speaking. She took a quick sip of champagne, using the glass as a shield, and nodded at his words. With a graceful bow, he gestured toward the gallery, welcoming them inside.
Looking up at Byakuya, her lavender eyes deepened with a complexity that defied words. Her lips, stained matte plum, curved into a smile that faltered. Feeling his hand on her back again, she followed his lead deeper into the room.
The space exuded quiet sophistication, their footfalls clicking on the polished floor. Apart from the attentive staff at the edges, they were alone. Taking a slow breath to calm the butterflies in her stomach, she remarked, "Byakuya-sama, I always thought artists attended their own exhibitions, however, it seems we are the only ones here."
"This exhibition features a private collection for sale, not the artists," Byakuya explained, raising an eyebrow. "Did Shirogane-san not mention this? If not, I'll address the oversight."
Hisana shook her head. Shirogane had not informed her, but she chose not to fault her. "No, Byakuya-sama, Shirogane performs her duties flawlessly, as always. I just," she paused, her gaze swept across the space, "expected more attendees."
"They will arrive soon," he reassured her, closing his eyes in a sigh. When they reopened, his voice was calm and measured. "The collection belongs to the Shihōin family, which explains the exclusivity. Invitations were limited to high-class buyers, art dealers, and critics. I arranged for us to have a private viewing first, to truly appreciate the art before the evening begins. There are some exquisite pieces here; it would be a shame not to enjoy them."
"Thank you, Byakuya-sama, that's incredibly thoughtful of you," Hisana said, leaning in, her hand found the curve of his elbow. He stiffened, his muscles locking up, his expression stoic but his eyes sparking like lightning behind thick clouds—intimidating yet mesmerising.
"You persist in calling me kind, despite knowing well that I am not," His voice scraped against the empty space.
"It seems we are at another disagreement," Hisana replied, her words falling softly as petals.
Close to him, she noted the emerging fault lines in his expression, his gaze moving away. A slow fire kindled within her, each thought fuelling the flames. She continued to lean in, his warmth searing her skin, before suddenly stepping back, her cheeks flushing deep red. Taking a large sip from her champagne flute, she smoothed the fabric of her dress.
Without looking back, Hisana moved away. His gaze followed her, the air thrumming with his presence while the faint scent of his cologne remained. Stopping in front of a painting that blended traditional Japanese ink strokes with vibrant, surreal colours, creating imagery more dreamlike than realistic. Byakuya followed, his gaze fixed on the artwork, perhaps searching for the same sense of order he imposed upon himself. He paused, sipping his champagne.
"It appears the artist has decided to rewrite the rules of Nihonga," he remarked with stoic clarity. "One hopes the artwork has a manuscript handy for those of us left bewildered."
A twinkle lit up in Hisana's eyes, blossoming into a soft, musical laugh that she could not suppress. Covering her mouth, she managed, "Is this the real reason for the private viewing, Byakuya-sama? To share your candid thoughts on pieces you just praised?"
Byakuya's response was measured over the rim of his glass. "I praised only a selection of the pieces," he clarified, eyes studying her reaction.
"Ever the discerning critic." Hisana's cheeks ached from laughter. "While the boldness and colour arrangements are striking, I find myself reluctant to agree out of principle—perhaps a habit from when you last reviewed my work."
He nodded. "It seems we view things differently once again." With an aloof ease that felt rehearsed, he continued, "I recall holding several personal sketches that included me in different intimate positions, which, it could be argued by some, contributed to your employment."
Silence fell between them, thick and electric, the air itself buzzing with implication. Hisana took a step back, her heel clicking against the floor. She laughed, a clear, singular note that echoed in the quiet space, turning her attention to another painting.
He had matched her move, causing goosebumps to cascade along her arms. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a trace of his smile—subtle, but undeniable. He had noticed; of course, he had.
Inside her, something stirred, rising in response. She cast a glance back at him. His gaze met hers with compelling intensity, as if invisible threads pulled tight between them. Retreating fully, the force of him too much, she could still feel his stare, a quiet presence that followed her.
At first, the gallery was vast and echoing, spotlighted artworks creating gentle pools on the polished floor, mingling Hisana and Byakuya's shadows with the art. As the evening progressed and more attendees filled the space, it transformed from sparse and echoic to a bustling hub alive with the elite of society; the murmur of conversations, the delicate clink of champagne glasses, and the whisper of fine fabrics moving.
Despite the crowd, Kuchiki Byakuya remained a focal point, his presence drawing deferential respect. The sharp lines of his suit accentuated his regal bearing, and his grey eyes, though distant, held a gravity that pulled people in. Byakuya navigated the social waters with detached grace, responding decorously and shifting the spotlight towards Hisana when introducing her, which drew eyes and attention her way.
Next to Byakuya's elegance, Hisana felt out of place, fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve and catching polite but scrutinising glances from those who quickly redirected their gaze back to Byakuya with renewed interest. Introductions progressed, and she observed Byakuya's mannerisms, beginning to mirror them and feeling more natural in her actions. She straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and let the soft light highlight the silver of her hairpins.
The evening flowed like a river—smooth and inevitable. Engrossed in conversation with art dealers, Hisana did not notice she had drifted away from Byakuya until a pause to sip her champagne made her realise she had been carried to the centre of the room, now distant from his orbit.
The bubbles in Hisana's glass teased her nose, but a growing heaviness in her stomach overshadowed the lightness. Positioned alone, she felt like a misplaced wallflower, shifting from one foot to the other.
Then, across the room, their eyes locked. Time slowed, the clatter and chatter of the crowd fading into a soft backdrop. But delving into his stormy grey eyes, Hisana's mind whispered, 'What am I doing?' She set her champagne glass down and broke away, stumbling towards the bathroom.
Once inside, she locked herself in a stall and leaned against the cold metal. Her brief respite shattered when the bathroom door creaked open, the sound of incoming voices caused Hisana to retreat further into the stall, her breath held, her body tensed. Through the thin walls, she heard her name.
"What's going on with him? He never usually comes, let alone brings someone along," one voice remarked. The tone was light, almost playful, but an underlying sharpness suggested otherwise.
"I know, right? Look at her—matching her outfit to his. Seems rather desperate." A pause, then a laugh. "But honestly, who is she? A nobody trying to climb up through him."
Looking down, Hisana wanted to fade the too-bright silver of her heels into the shadows. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms.
"She's just some employed artist, right? Comes from Ehime, so basically nothing," another voice chimed in, dripping with derision, followed by a laugh that bounced off the tiles.
"I didn't think Kuchiki-sama would go for that, but I guess even he can be tempted by a working woman on her back."
Words struck like arrows, each burrowing deep. They hurt, yes, but the real sting lay in the recognition that her motives, her actions, were tainted.
Fighting back tears, her eyes stared unseeingly at a distant point long after the voices faded. Hisana concentrated on the rise and fall of her chest. Only when her fists relaxed did she dare to open the stall door.
A cold clench gripped her lungs, turning her insides to ice. What had she been thinking? Her chest clamoured for space, for air that wasn't suffused with her own stifling behaviour.
Without another thought, Hisana left the bathroom and weaved through the crowd of well-dressed elites. Her smile never reached her eyes and while she excused herself, her heart pounded a frantic rhythm that drove her further into the night. The building's oppressive warmth gave way to the illusion of freedom—a freedom always just beyond her grasp.
Compelled to further her escape, she distanced herself from the exhibition. Under the cloak of night, the call of the ocean was irresistible, drawing her away from the lit pathways to the wild, dark beach. Darkness enveloped her, seeming to swallow her whole—her intentions, her façade, her shoes—all discarded while she stepped barefoot on the sand.
Her feet sank into the cool, coarse granules. However, for all its comfort, the sand could not still her heart. She moved toward the water. With a breath that tasted of salt, Hisana stepped past the shoreline into the ocean's embrace.
The first wave that washed over her toes was shockingly cold, sending shivers up her spine. Hisana waded deeper, and the water rose to lap at her ankles, then her shins. Her gown absorbed the stinging chill, the fabric darkening and clinging to her legs. She stopped when the water reached her knees, the waves swaying and pulling with an insistent tug.
With clenched fists, Hisana pressed her hands to her forehead. The insinuations had cut deep. She could not force this. But here, with the icy waves teasing her, Hisana confronted her truth—it was more than desire; it was consuming. She wanted to be the peace in his nights and the passion in his life.
Their initial meeting flashed in her mind. When their eyes first locked, it felt as though he had opened a window in a room she hadn't realised was suffocating her. His gaze had hinted at expansive fields beneath open skies, offering a world unbounded by the confines that shaped her life.
But then—
"Hisana." Her name, carried by the night breeze, made her head whip around.
There he stood, framed by the starlit sky, the shadows of the night tailoring his elegant figure. His presence, his bare feet on the sand and the casual way he held his shoes sketched a man who had stepped from his world into hers. Seeing him, the tightness in her lungs eased.
The breeze nipped at her skin, but it was his approach that sent deeper shivers through her. Byakuya paused, setting his shoes on the sand. Shrugging off his suit jacket, he stepped into the frigid embrace of the ocean. The waves welcomed him, the water soaking the hem of his trousers, rising higher with each pulse of the tide.
Hisana watched the water swirl around his ankles, then shifted her gaze up to his face, catching the grimace on his face. Once he stood beside her, though, his eyes sparked with an intensity.
"To desire and distance oneself is a contradiction as old as time. It is the plight of someone who fears the ruin of the very thing he wishes to protect." Byakuya said, his words disappearing with the crashing waves.
The sea's chill frothed around their legs, moonlight sculpting his features—from the strong angle of his jaw to the aristocratic line of his nose, and the reflective glow in his eyes. Those deep eyes ignited a fire, "Hisana, you did well tonight."
Breathing out, each exhale a visible mist, freezing her in place for a mere heartbeat. Then, Hisana moved, wrapping her arms around his neck. She drew him close, pressing her lips against his, meeting only passive resistance.
Her fingers tightened around his neck. Pulling him closer, she tried to deepen the kiss, but his hands stayed lifeless, and the rigidity of his lips spiralled through her heart, like thorns twisting within. The kiss lingered, unclaimed and waning, prompting her to pull back. However, before she could retreat, his fingers curled around her jaw, drawing her in once more. This time, his lips pressed back with a softness that bloomed.
Soon, it began to change, his mouth gaining strength. His lips moved with increasing pressure, tracing her mouth with a fervour that mirrored the burn flooding her veins. The taste of champagne mingled with a softer, floral note, as if they were kissing amidst cherry blossoms.
Each kiss grew more assertive, eliciting primal responses from Hisana, urging her to cling closer and plead for more. His hand traced her neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps, dizzying her with delicious vertigo, forcing her deeper into his embrace.
Her hands tangled in his hair, nails scraping his scalp. Any withdrawal of their lips was short-lived, followed by a more fervent, demanding return. During one pause, she whispered, "Byakuya."
The moment froze; her eyes widened, heart seizing. A soft breath marked the space between them. Her gaze shifted from his reddened, parted lips to his stormy eyes. Their bodies pressed tight, chests heaving. Reality crashed over them with the force of a cold wave, the immediate warmth of their closeness washed away. The chill of the ocean was trivial compared to the frost clawing up through her, filling the distance left by their parting lips.
Caught in the sensation of his fingertips on her neck—now feeling like a tether she could not escape—Hisana thrashed against his hold. His caress scalded, too intense, too intimate. This compelled her to fight the gravitational pull of his proximity with flailing limbs. The seawater weighed down her dress, pulling at her with every step.
"Hisana, please, calm yourself," His whisper was forceful, meant to secure her, to keep her from falling apart.
She shook her head, pushing at everything—the water, the air, and him. "No! Let me go!" Her pleas escalated to screams. "Don't touch me!"
Byakuya's hands withdrew as if scorched. Suddenly free, she stumbled backward, water splashing around her. The space between them widened, stretching across the dark beach, vast like the ocean itself, under spectral moonlight that painted their separation with an eerie glow.
Her breaths came ragged, tearing the silence, visible in vapours. Tears streaked down her cheeks in the sparse light, giving her a spectral appearance. She fixed her gaze on his silhouette merging with darkness of the night—his allure obscured by shadows, rendering him both familiar and alien.
"Why?" she breathed, the word barely above the whisper of the waves. His lips parted, words poised on the brink of utterance, but none came. Averting his gaze, he ran a hand through his hair.
The silence stretched until Hisana broke it, her voice trembling, "You've tolerated my behaviour all night, followed me, despite your rejections. Why? Why follow me? Why—" She choked off.
Byakuya stood, statue-like against the raging sea, unaffected by the crashing waves. "You've inserted yourself into every aspect of my life, suffocating me! Is this your idea of punishment, or am I just a pawn? What could you possibly gain from this, from me?"
The impact of her words was immediate; Byakuya flinched, struck by their force. "Hisana, stop this," he snapped through the cold night.
She halted, her voice a mirror of the gap widening between them. "You are a cruel man, Kuchiki Byakuya."
"Am I the cruel one, Hisana?" His voice rose, a ferocity in his tone that hadn't been there before—a further crack in his stoic armour.
He didn't wait for her response. "You question my motives but overlook the chaos in your wake. It's not cruelty but caution that guides me—caution against the disruptive consequences of you!"
The silence that followed was a bloody aftermath to the cut of his words. Her vision clouded, not just from the tears that flowed but from the desolation that his words wrought. Around them, the night seemed to hold its breath, the only sounds the distant murmur of the ocean and the faint rustle of the wind.
"You call it caution; I call it cowardice," Hisana retorted, matching his volume.
Her next words flowed not as an outcry but as a declaration. "You hide behind your duty and decorum, Byakuya, but I see the truth. You're afraid, not of what I might bring, but of yourself."
Through her tear-blurred eyes, she observed him under the icy scrutiny of the moonlight—his eyes widened, his mouth a firm line. He stood, a shadow carved from the night itself, his silhouette sharpened against the ocean, his hair tousled by the breeze that carried the briny tang of the sea mingled with the bitter sting of their words.
His fists clenched and unclenched. "Hisana—" he began, his voice a low whisper, more felt than heard.
She shook her head, cutting off whatever he sought to offer. Under the vast canopy of the night sky, their eyes locked across the growing divide. He half-stepped forward, stopped by the gesture of her hand. The stars dimmed above them; nature itself mourning the scene playing out beneath.
The only sounds louder than her racing heartbeat and muffled cries were the crashing ocean waves while she fled. Byakuya remained where she left him, his figure shrinking into the distance, half-swallowed by the sea mist. The wind turned bitter, whipping around; the ocean responded with angry roars.
The waves, ever a thief, stole away her footprints, erasing her presence bit by bit. It was like watching a dream dissolve into the night, each step taking her further, allowing the darkness to envelop everything. It was a fitting end to an evening that had strayed so far from its intended course, leaving behind only the chill of what could have been.
Shadows stretched across the confines of Hisana's hotel room, mirroring the dark tendrils clutching at her heart. As the night wore on, each tick of the clock punctuated the silence like an incessant hammer. When dawn finally pierced the darkness, the morning light was harsh against her swollen, tear-streaked eyes.
She sat on the edge of her bed, trying to piece herself back together. The process resembled stitching frayed edges—painstaking and imperfect.
Once dressed and packed, Hisana bypassed the formality of retrieving her forgotten possessions from the exhibition and ignored the chauffeured car waiting below. Instead, she sought the anonymity of the morning crowd, her steps carrying her to the train station.
Tucking herself away in a seat distant from prying eyes, Hisana curled into her corner. When the train slid away from Hayama, the lurching of the car did nothing to soothe her aching body. Her eyes, still tender from tears and the glaring light, watched dully; the world outside blurred past.
The thought almost made her chuckle; the world moved on, as always, yet she remained stuck in a moment she couldn't escape.
Memories of their kiss flashed like hues splashed against the drab reality. His touch had spurred her heartbeat into a fluttering dance. Then, when passion surged, the kiss deepened—his lips firm, his taste intoxicating, his hands cradling her face.
Except Hisana was adrift in the aftermath; a survivor in the wake of his storm, navigating through the wreckage of her own decisions. What had stirred were dark, contorted shadows of her true self, ones she had let in, which skewed her perceptions.
But even then, she couldn't dismiss his words. They were venom, coursing through her, leaving a trail of pain. Which resulted in her retaliation, hurling back words sharp as stones. A loose attempt to guard her fracturing heart against the hurt he had delivered.
Pressing her hand against her chest, Hisana felt the cracks in her heart widening. Now, in the clarity of the following day, she understood how he had tried to connect. However, her instincts had misfired—her words and actions a defensive barrier erected to mirror the perceived threat.
Still, he had followed her into the ocean.
She had wanted him, had orchestrated it for their kiss. Yet, when the moment arrived, she pulled away, reacting. His words were fitting. Her existence only wrought consequences; claiming her parents, and now shadowing her sister.
Hisana sank deeper into her seat, her fingers threading through her hair, tugging at the roots as if she could physically pull out the invasive thoughts.
'The consequences of you.'
Each thought tugged her further into speculation, causing her mind to spin, but somewhere beneath that, her heart suggested another interpretation.
Perhaps his words were not accusations but confessions.
The very thought made her heart skip. In the silence that followed her thoughts, the vacant space laughed at her hasty decision. Each rattle and shake of the train was a jeer at her unthought-out actions.
Releasing her grip on her hair, Hisana straightened up, her posture flat against the padded seat. She reached into her bag, drawing out her phone. Her fingers moved over the screen, pausing when she noticed a missed call from an unknown number.
There it was again, that flutter, whispering his name.
She pressed the callback button and raised the phone to her ear, her heartbeat echoed with each ring until the line clicked.
"Hisana?" The voice on the other end was unmistakable.
Her reply was a strained whisper, "Byakuya-sama."
"Where are you?" His immediate response caused a dull ache to spread through her chest.
She bowed her head, feeling his words. "On a train to Tokyo."
A silence filled the line. When he spoke again, his voice came through, cautious and deep, "You're not hurt?"
Choosing to ignore his question, she inhaled, steadying her voice, "Can we talk? At the atelier this afternoon. Please."
Instead of heading straight to the gallery upon her return, Hisana detoured to her apartment in Sumida, the place still marked by its peeling paint and weary shutters. Stepping into the genkan, she felt she had entered a space suspended in time, one not quite ready to receive her—nor she, it.
Her luggage remained by the door, forgotten as she paused, caught by her own reflection in the mirror. The remnants of yesterday's glamour lingered in her mind: the plum dress, embroidered to match Byakuya's elegance. Today, she was clad in a pink dress with precise pleats at the waist, shielded by a black trench coat—sufficient for the day, yet her appearance belied the exhaustion. The vibrancy of her usual lavender eyes was now dimmed, shadowed and reddened from a tear-streaked night, her hair listless and flat.
On the train earlier, Hisana replayed his words in an endless loop. They didn't just echo; they cut through, sharper, clearer until her own perception blurred. At first, his statement 'consequences of you' was a wound; sharp, painful, and meant to hurt.
However, continuing to reflect on his words, their meaning changed. Hisana began to see them not as a cut, but as a connection, an acknowledgement of her effect on him.
With his guidance, she had found herself more entwined, discovering parts of her that only he could reveal. Kuchiki Byakuya was both a revelation and a puzzle, who navigated her while keeping himself obscured. He was a mystery, a book with pages she had never turned, because she hadn't dared to.
Nodding, Hisana tucked her hair behind her ears and gripped her handbag tighter. The door clicked behind her, marking her departure from the stillness of her apartment.
In a quiet corner of the bus station, and later in her seat, Hisana rehearsed her words. As the bus rocked, her lips moved, shaping each phrase she planned to say. She silently annotated and adjusted, sharpening her words until her heart settled.
She could no longer run from it, from him. The solution was clear: he liked her, and she liked him. So why did it feel so complicated?
Disembarking from the bus onto the bustling streets of Ginza, she watched the afternoon sun turn the storefronts into dazzling jewels. Hisana waded through the crowd, making her way towards the gallery. Expansive windows sliced through the building's exterior, offering glimpses of the white walls inside. It was now furnished with high-end pieces and interspersed with green plants, waiting for art that would soon enliven the environment—her art.
From the distance, she spotted their silhouettes. Byakuya was there, speaking with unfamiliar men, his presence as commanding as ever. Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting his tailored figure in a glow that emphasised his elegance. Renji stood beside him, his fiery hair and tattoos misplaced against his professional blazer.
Her steps faltered as she caught brown eyes through the window. A blush crept up her neck, the warm flush revealing she'd been caught. In response, Renji nodded and gestured towards the door. However, it went unnoticed, her world realigned with the turning of Byakuya's gaze.
Seeing him, her heart caught; every prior moment—the words that stung, the kiss that burned—flashed before her eyes, a creeping tide that overwhelmed. Hisana pressed a hand to her chest. But then, Byakuya froze, his shoulders tensing. Beside him, Renji stood rigid, his mouth opening before quickly snapping shut. He leaned in, whispering something to Byakuya that Hisana couldn't decipher.
Just then, she felt it, a prickling at the back of her neck. This was not the shiver of an October wind, but a familiar, unsettling shadow. It was like a dark cloud descending, making her skin crawl.
"Marugo-san," the voice called out, chilling in its familiarity.
Hisana turned, her practiced smile brittle against the strain in her eyes. "Kōga-san," she greeted. "I wasn't expecting to see you today."
"I seem unable to stay away," he was close, close enough for Hisana to discern the fine lines crinkling his forehead and the grey flecks salting his hair. "How fares my esteemed artist today?"
A snake-like gleam shifted his gaze, skimming over her before locking onto something—or someone—behind her. The smile that spread across his face resembled a fissure splitting through ice, revealing the depths of colder, darker waters beneath.
She responded, "Busy," her words as clipped as the brief clasp of her hands. "I've just come from an event for the upcoming gallery opening," she added, inching back.
Out of nowhere, he grasped her arms, yanking her closer. His touch bristled her skin, causing her body to tense. In reflex, Hisana's eyes swept over her shoulder toward the gallery.
"Always hard at work, Marugo-san. Your commitment is truly impressive," he said, the green of his eyes dark and mottled like decayed moss, intense in his stare. "Perhaps it's my age, but I've taken a real interest in watching your progress unfold."
Her façade faltered, the corners quivering, "You're always so kind with your words, Kōga-san, even though you haven't yet seen my work."
Edging out of his hold in clumsy half-steps, she angled her body away. The awkwardness of her retreat was palpable in the stiff set of her back and the drag of her feet.
His smile shifted, morphing into something more calculating, more predatory, as if he were privy to secrets, she had not whispered to anyone. "I've watched you with great interest, Marugo-san," he continued, his chuckle out of sync.
Reaching into his coat, Kōga produced a thick envelope that he held out to her. "For you," he said, a veneer coating his voice.
"What is it?" Hisana asked, eyeing the envelope.
Its heft suggested more than just paper, however, she could not discern the contents from its sealed ends.
"Within, you'll discover select prints from renowned artists, accompanied by information on upcoming exhibitions. This should serve well to draw a distinguished audience to your own showing," he explained, thrusting it into her hands, pressing it against her.
"You'll find my business card there as well. I trust I will receive an invitation to your exhibition?" he posed it as a question, his voice lilting at the end as if to denote choice.
At the polite imposition, her fingers clasped around the envelope out of compulsion rather than will. Time seemed to stretch, each second elongating into minutes while he watched her, unblinking. His stare was like a yoke around her neck. Hisana opened her mouth to set some boundary, but the words tangled in her throat, stifled.
A tilt of his head accompanied his farewell, "Please forgive my intrusion, Marugo-san. I do hope your afternoon is as pleasant as you deserve." There was a cold precision to his politeness, a calculated detachment.
Then, turning on his heel, he walked away with a casualness that suggested she was no more significant than the air he moved through. Shaking her head to dispel the lingering shadow of his presence, Hisana felt a bitter residue clouding her thoughts.
She looked back to the gallery, drawing a breath at the emptiness, all but for Abarai Renji. He stood alone, leaning against the marble desk, his posture rigid, arms crossed. His deep brown eyes pierced through her, tracking her every move. Hisana approached the glass doors and crossed the threshold.
Inside, the gallery stretched out, pulling her into its heart, enveloping her in a way her home never did. It was instinctive, the smile she offered Renji, but it broke under his scrutinising stare, a spotlight too intense for a proper welcome.
"Renji-san," Hisana greeted, halting mid-step. His response was a terse scoff, leaving the distance palpable between them.
His gaze flicked to the side, a quick, evasive manoeuvre that matched the sudden itch he found at the back of his head. "I could've had your back, if only you'd been straight with me," he said, before he sighed, his head tipping back. "Damn, I really didn't peg you for someone like that."
"Is everything okay?" Hisana asked, taking a small step forward.
He paused, his face set in a tight line, brows furrowed, deep brown eyes flashing in response. Turning away, he raised his hand and pointed upwards. "The boss is upstairs. You should go."
Air hung heavier, the silence not empty but expectant, the walls themselves holding their breath. The gallery had turned eerie, not through any overt change but through the creeping certainty that something had changed. Hisana was aware of Byakuya's hidden temper, his jagged facets, but never like this—never this close to breaking.
Nodding, her smile waned as the reality of the situation settled around her. "Okay," she acknowledged quietly.
His exit was almost mechanical. Halfway to the hallway, he stopped, his back forming a rigid line against the white walls. For a moment, Renji seemed caught between staying and going. Then, shaking his head, he resumed his exit, closing the door—a barrier he fastened shut behind him.
Hisana lingered in the now-empty space where Renji had been. The gallery whispered secrets, nudging her gaze upward towards the atelier. Her thoughts spun in disarray; the more she thought, the less clear everything seemed. With careful steps, she paused at the foot of the staircase, her fingers finding the icy banister. Though she had rehearsed this moment, the reality—of him waiting, of the words she planned to say—became distorted.
Taking a deep breath that did little to steady her racing heart, Hisana tightened her grip on the cool metal before beginning her ascent. The climb was brief, and she entered the atelier.
Immediately, she was enveloped by the blend of turpentine, oil paints, and the aged wood of well-used easels. Soaking into the murmur of the familiar, she saw him. Byakuya stood in stoic silence, his back to her, studying the canvas that bore his likeness; a portrait she had continued in leisure after their first almost kiss weeks earlier.
Hisana's fingers twitched as her eyes traced the line of his shoulders, then moved to the painted visage that captured a different essence of the man in front of her. Even from a distance, the portrait struck a chord of airiness against the backdrop of Byakuya's classical, almost sculptural beauty. High cheekbones, a straight nose, and a strong jawline were reminiscent of an ancient statue, brought to life under her brush. The painting caught the light, accentuating the thoughtful tilt of his head and the depth in his eyes—deep, expressive, commanding attention and stirring the soul of anyone who dared to meet it.
This painting revealed the Byakuya she saw and sought; a glimpse of the gentleness hidden beneath his reserved exterior, whispered to those willing to look. However, his real-life posture bristled with rigidity, casting a shadow that absorbed all light and air.
Hisana moved across the room, her presence meek, almost reverential, as she hung her bag and coat on their usual hook. Her eyes never left his form, drawn to him yet wary of the barrier he created. Only then did she approach him with small steps, reaching out to touch his arm.
"Byakuya-sama," she said softly.
The slightest contact sparked a sudden, explosive reaction, mirroring a volcanic eruption. He spun around, his movement sharp, bringing his face mere inches from hers. His eyes bore into hers like flames, capable of igniting the very air that trembled between them.
Her instinct was to recoil, a small flinch betraying her composure. However, even though her mind urged retreat, the electric tension crackling between them drew her closer, ensnared by the storm brewing. Her heart surged to her throat, pulsing with a ferocity that matched the fire in his eyes. Words spilled from her lips—words her mind hadn't planned. "Byakuya-sama, last night, I didn't mean what I said."
Instead of soothing him, her admission fanned its flames; his brow knitted tighter with each word.
"But the kiss... I meant that." Hisana took a deep breath, her sentence carrying a weight of undeniable truth.
"From the moment I saw you on that rooftop, you've overwhelmed me, Byakuya-sama." Her voice faltered, each word trembling like her hands. Unravelling under his stare, her rehearsed confession emerged fragmented. "Before meeting you, I was lost, like I was just existing, not really living. After the accident, my life just... stopped. I had given up on myself, devoting everything I had left to my sister." There was a crack in her words, caused by weighty truths. Hisana paused, closing her eyes for a heartbeat, then resumed. "But then there you were that morning in the alley."
"In some strange way, I'm thankful for all that happened, because it brought me to you. You've given me a reason to be here today, despite everything I've caused." The flood of her words drained the strength from her knees. Hisana had so much to express, depths her words could never fully convey. But the more she tried to articulate them, the more she felt him withdraw.
With eyes that reached into his very soul, she implored him before her lips even moved, "I see it; I felt it in our kiss, Byakuya-sama; you feel it too. So, what holds you back? What gives you pause about us?"
His gaze was thorough, almost clinical, dissecting her bit by bit. His eyes then creased, and his mouth turned down as he whispered, "Why?"
Reaching toward him, Hisana's fingers brushed his. Abruptly, he snapped away, his expression shutting down and his stance rigid. Each inch he moved back was a clear declaration of distance.
"Remarkable, Marugo-san," Byakuya said, his tone clipped and precise, devoid of warmth. "You have proven yourself an adept actor. You managed to deceive me, even while daring to call me cruel."
"Deceive you?" The words struck her like a whip's crack, resonating with a sting that left her heart tightening.
"I trust the compensation was sufficient, covering both your performance last evening and your confession. One would hope it was worth it." His backward steps dragged his words with them, each step adding static that fuzzed their clarity.
"Byakuya-sama," Hisana called, doing the only thing she thought possible. She reached out, her fingers curling around his with the delicacy of a leaf touching the surface of a pond, effectively halting him. "Please believe me, I'm not deceiving you—I swear. About last night, I regret my words. They were spoken in overwhelm, not in truth."
"Bold indeed, to choose deceit once more." Her hand on his was the flint, and his reaction was the spark—a quick, hard snap of his arm pulling away.
When he spoke again, his words shattered the pretence. "How long have you been working for my uncle?"
"Your uncle?" she echoed.
"Do not play games with me!" The tension became too much—his expression splintered, cracks joining in a rush, breaking apart. "Was it his scheme to hire you—to infiltrate and disrupt my operations so he could supplant me? Was that your role all along? To worm your way in, seduce me, and sabotage everything?"
"Kōga-san is your uncle?" It was a soft utterance, meant only for her ears.
Her head began to sway, at first slightly, then gathering speed. "No, I had no idea. He's a stranger to me."
Her gaze settled on Byakuya. She observed the rigid set of his shoulders, the subtle tremor in his hands, and the stern line of his mouth beneath his storm-grey eyes. Something cracked at the sight of him, silencing her thoughts and urging her body into motion. With a cautious step forward, she leaned in.
Rising onto the tips of her toes, she brought her hand to his face, her fingers tracing his jaw before coaxing his head down to meet hers, their lips touching. At first, it was a kiss from her heart, conveyed through the gentle press of her lips against his. The motion was tender, each contact like a brush of silk—a dialogue of lips where each press both asked and answered.
Then, he shifted. His hands found her waist, drawing her close until their bodies melded together. This was wild, uncontrolled—a consuming fire engulfing them both. His lips, parted with growing hunger, claiming hers with insistent passion; his breath quickened, heating the space between them. It was relentless, each kiss deeper, more demanding.
He was overwhelming—the taste, the scent, the feel of his body pressed against hers. His tongue slid against hers, making her knees weak. Hisana clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing more. The kiss became an aggressive dance of lips, tongue, and teeth, his hands everywhere, sliding up her back, tangling in her hair, pulling her closer.
Like a starving wolf, Byakuya kissed her, his mouth devouring hers, seeking to obliterate the lingering bitterness that surrounded them. The rough texture of his lips moved against hers, and the possessive grip of his hands imprinted into her skin.
Just as the intensity reached its peak, he pulled away, his lips leaving hers to hang in a sudden, aching void that drew a sharp gasp from her. Though Byakuya stepped back, his hands shifted to grasp her arms, leaving her heart pounding in the narrow space between them.
"Do not presume to play games with me," he warned, his voice a dark melody that belied the frostiness of his words.
"Byakuya-sama, please," she breathed out, her pulse hammering. A heat danced between her legs, intensifying with each second in his embrace. It was a wild burning that urged her to cling tighter.
"Such tactics will lead you nowhere. I have warned you; I will not hesitate to show you consequences," he said as if inviting darkness, promising secrets of the night while warning of the loss of light.
She shook her head, "Byakuya-sama, I'm not—I swear." Lifting her eyes to meet his, she found herself ensnared by his dark, stormy gaze. It became her entire world.
"And yet, here we are, Hisana, once again you find yourself entangled in matters that should not involve you, now with my uncle." Without warning, he released her.
Like a flame doused in cold water, the heat of his touch gave way to the frost of his narrowed gaze, his expression shifting to one of imposing detachment. Her heart lurched as he moved away, and almost on cue, her hand darted out, fingers intertwining with his once more.
Her touch bound him, pulling him back. "Byakuya-sama..."
"You do not understand what you have done," speaking low, Byakuya's words soaked into her, drawing her in.
Hisana swallowed, her throat parched around the words pouring from her heart, "I do."
He reached up and tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. "Then bend over. At the table," his command struck a deep chord, a primal note vibrating through her core.
It was a directive she could no more ignore than stop her heart from beating. Her head turned on its own accord, following the deep-seated command still echoing low in her belly. Sunlight spilled over the surface of the table, casting a glow that beckoned her. This was what she had wanted. His acknowledgement.
Releasing him, Hisana approached the table with reverent steps. She bent forward, pressing her palms against the warm, sun-kissed wood as beams of sunlight danced across her back, their warmth seeping into her skin.
A hush descended, muffling all sounds but the loud thumping of her heart. Behind her, she could feel him, an electric awareness of his presence.
"Lift your dress," Byakuya's command ignited every nerve in her body.
Her breath hitched, shoulders rising and falling. She grasped the fabric of her dress with her fingers and lifted it slowly. His gaze—deliberate like a feather across her exposed skin—made her second-guess her choice of underwear, a decision she had made without thought that morning.
"Hisana," her name was thick in his voice, a slow-moving sound. "You once spoke of understanding consequences, yet you prove incapable of comprehending them. I will not entertain games, deceit, or manipulation." Byakuya's voice then softened to a whisper, brushing her ear with the intimacy of a secret meant only for her, "even if it is you."
Her eyelids fluttered closed. Biting her lip, Hisana stilled her breath, her body tense. Each heartbeat echoed in her ribcage, matching the deep, insistent pulsing that resonated lower, a throb between her legs.
"Five," he declared from behind her, his presence shifting. She released her dress but kept her bottom exposed, gripping the edge of the table. "You will count them."
Without delay, the first strike landed—a sharp, resounding crack on her bare skin. Pain sliced through her, clear and bright, before settling into a deep, spreading warmth. Pressing herself against the desk, she awaited the next.
The second strike, swift and intense, felt like a fiery kiss, leaving a tingling imprint. Below her, the table's firm wood pressed up, nearly satisfying but not quite what she sought.
Then, his hand traced the contours of her stinging skin, gliding over her curves. "You need to count," his voice was gentle but firm, his warm touch quickening her breaths, matching the rhythmic pulse building.
Byakuya waited until Hisana nodded. With her eyes closed, the world vanished, leaving only the blistering heat of his hand and the encompassing warmth on her bottom. Her muscles clenched, dampening her undergarments.
The next spank landed with startling precision, the sting rippling across her skin and coaxing out a gasp that turned into a soft moan, "One." Intense heat pressed her wet underwear to her heightened nerves, causing her to rock against the table.
There was no mercy in the escalation. Byakuya's hand struck like lightning, not allowing her skin to settle into a simple ache before she breathed, "Two."
Each spank resonated deeper than the last. By the third, the fire was raging—a controlled burn pushing her toward the brink. "Three," Hisana managed, the strike a pulsating drumbeat. Her body responded in rhythm, arching and shaking, winding tighter and tighter.
His hand delivered another precise, stinging strike—the sound sizzling like rain on hot pavement—pulling a raw, heavy breath from her throat. "Four."
Her body was a taut string, vibrating with imminent release, every part converging on a single, shattering pinnacle. The fifth spank thundered across her skin, freezing time as sound and sensation filled the space between them, a fierce bloom that buckled her knees.
"Five," Hisana moaned, escalating from a breathy whisper to a throaty hum.
Toes curling, fingers clutching the oak, she pressed into its rugged grain, the sensation etching into her skin. Every muscle tight, every sense electrified, she yearned for the release that shimmered close.
When his hand met her inflamed skin, his touch was light, reverent; he traced the heated welts on her bare bottom. It was like a string had been plucked, her breath caught, held, and expelled in sync as the release hit her like an explosion of stars, igniting her nerves with radiant pulses of pleasure. Each spark shot through her, scattering light across her mind, her body lost in a blinding dance of intensity.
A moan tore from her throat. She arched into his hand, surrendering to a blissful release that left her breathless and spent.
In the aftermath, Hisana lingered in a disorienting haze, reassembling her senses from the fragments of her throbbing body. She loosened her grip on the table, her hands trembling, her vision blurred while she searched for him in the softened contours of the atelier.
The warmth of his presence had vanished, replaced by an icy draft that swept through the room. It chilled her still-exposed skin, biting into the places where his palms had seared their imprint moments before. Leaning against the table, still bent over, she felt the room shift. Tremors crept through her, turning the bright sunlight into dancing shadows.
Left alone, her thoughts began to spiral like leaves in a storm. Each question—'What is wrong with me?'—echoed back louder and more insistently, turning her consciousness into a hall of mirrors where each reflection twisted her perception further, leaving her to sift through the shards of what they had done.
So. There is a lot I can say. Firstly, the last part of this scene was one of the firsts part of this story I wrote, although, the way we got to it had changed, including where it was placed in the story.
As well, we are starting to go a bit more into Byakuya (although, viewpoint will always be restricted to Hisana, her bias and perspective), and his motives.
One thing, I really wanted them all to be true to their characterisations from Bleach, within a fleshed, moving modern setting and the story. I really wanted to make them all human, with mistakes, miscommunication, emotions and show the character development.
So, I get if this story isn't for everyone either due to writing style, character focus or specific topics being covered in the story.
I hope you liked it! I am quite proud of this chapter, despite still thinking I can refine some of the writing more.
I am also aware that I am very late in posting this, but June and July hasn't been the kindest of months. Let me summarise what has happened between posting the previous chapter and this; had a weekend work conference, a work network event, a death and tragedy in both my family and my husbands (so 2 deaths), a terrible 7-day flu and then a cold, and my cousin came to visit from another country for a week.
So, I am extremely proud of myself, and I really, really hope you have enjoyed this chapter as much as I have put into it.
As always, if you have gotten to this chapter, thank you for reading 😊 I always appreciate any type of interaction.